“So, you move the king piece to the front, then roll the dice to see if you can advance,” one of the guards explained, nudging a wooden token forward and handing Scarlett the dice.

“And I can double my score because the king’s still in the base?” she asked, examining the dice in her palm.

“Exactly. As long as he stays there, you get the bonus.”

Scarlett gave the dice a shake and let them clatter across the deck.

“Excellent!” the guard grinned, scooping them up. “You can expand your base by four or move a battalion six spaces.”

“I’d expand,” Dr. Huget chimed in with a wink, leaning in conspiratorially.

"Hey—no cheating!" The sailor sitting on the opposite side of the board pointed accusatorially at the doctor. "No helping when you’ve got money riding on it."

"You bet on me?" Scarlett blinked, surprised, as Huget raised both hands in mock surrender.

"I really wouldn’t," she added quickly, waving her hand. "I still barely understand the rules."

"Nonsense," the guard said, grinning as he passed her the dice. "You’ve got a knack for it. So are you expanding the base?"

She glanced at the doctor, then shrugged. "I guess I’ll trust the medical advice."

Before she could roll again, the thud of hurried footsteps drew her attention. She looked up just in time to see Artur jogging up the stairs—three small figures racing past him.

"Sorry for the delay," he said, weaving between the scattered game pieces. He scooped up her empty breakfast bowl with one hand and held something out with the other. "Took longer than I thought to find a brush. The Chancellor wasn’t exactly helpful with instructions on where to find it."

He handed her a sleek silver brush, then tilted his head toward the kids behind him. "Luckily, I had some backup."

The three children who had raced past Artur were clustered behind him, three sets of wary eyes scanning the unfamiliar faces.

"Miss Scarlett?" Via peeked out from behind him and then darted forward, nearly toppling him in the process. She hurried to Scarlett’s side, eyes locked on the silver brush in her hands. "Are you doing your hair?" she asked breathlessly. "Can you do mine too?"

Before Scarlett could answer, Via clambered onto the crate beside her, practically buzzing with excitement.

Scarlett smiled, shifting to make room. "I can try. I’m not very good with fancy styles, but I can manage a braid."

She gently ran her fingers through Via’s hair to assess the tangles. "Evelyn," she called softly, glancing over at her, "would you like me to braid yours too?"

Evelyn hesitated, her eyes flicking nervously over the crowd. After a moment, she gave a small nod and edged around the far side of the deck, keeping her distance. She crouched low behind Scarlett’s crate, half-hidden from the view of the crowd.

Scarlett glanced over at Olive, who stood awkwardly off to the side, shifting from foot to foot.

"Olive," she said gently, "would you like to help me? I’m not very good at strategy games, and I could really use a clever partner." She gestured toward the board with the brush still in hand.

His face lit up. Without hesitation, he scurried around the group and planted himself cross-legged in front of the crate. His eyes locked onto the board with intense focus.

Scarlett bit back a laugh. He looked like a tiny guard dog standing watch over a kingdom.

"Here," she said, handing him one of the dice, "we’ll each roll one. Double the players, double the luck."

By the time she’d finished brushing her own hair and Via’s, she was halfway through Evelyn’s when the sky began to darken. The clouds rolled in fast—low and heavy, dragging a thick scent of salt and rain across the deck. It felt as if the sky itself was sinking, pressing down on them with its weight.

Scarlett glanced up from Evelyn’s braid. Overhead, a ceiling of gray, bruised with streaks of black, loomed closer by the minute.

"That's nearly game, miss," said the guard, moving her pieces. He handed her the dice with a grin. "Are you sure you’re not some secret strategist?"

She let out a quiet laugh and passed the dice to Olive. "Positive."

Her opponent rolled, and a chorus of groans rose from the growing crowd around them.

"Bad roll there, mate," the guard said with a teasing grin.

"Alright, Olive, your turn." Scarlett finished Evelyn’s second braid and brought the two together, tying them with the ribbon Artur handed her. "All done," she said with a smile.

"Wow, Miss Scarlett. Are you sure you don’t have a little sister? You’re great at this." Artur leaned against a stack of crates, idly braiding spare ribbons in his hands.

She shook her head. "No, but I tend to babysit for some family friends. Their little girl has the most beautiful long brown hair—I got plenty of practice." She gently adjusted Evelyn’s braid, studying her quietly.

Evelyn reminded her of Marie. Not in temperament, but the resemblance was there—same dark brown hair, same light freckles scattered across her nose. Of the four of them, Evelyn looked the most apart.

"Say, Miss Scarlett?" One of the guards looked up as he passed the dice back to Olive. "If you don’t mind me asking—do you know where you’re from?"

She paused. It struck her as a strange question—he'd been part of the brigade that took her. Surely he already knew where she was from. But then she remembered they all knew much more about her than she wanted them to.

"Do you mean where I was born," she asked, her voice cool, "or where my parents got me from?" She made sure the emphasis landed hard on parents.

Artur shot the guard a sharp look, the ribbon in his hands twisting tighter between his fingers.

"I wasn’t trying to pry," the guard said quickly. "We got my younger brother through the church. I just wondered if it was the same for you. They usually keep better records—that’s all I meant."

Some of the tension in her chest loosened. She let out a breath. The venom on her tongue softened.

"Well... technically, they did get me from the temple. But I was brought there by one of the groups the church partners with. I’m not exactly sure which one." She gave a nervous laugh, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Honestly, I don’t think the church has much on me."

She became acutely aware that everyone was listening. Even Artur had gone still, wearing that irritating look again—like he was dissecting her words, waiting for something to slip.

"That's a shame," the guard said, casually moving pieces on the board.

"Not really." She crossed her arms, rubbing them. "I'm perfectly happy with my parents."

The word with hit her like a jolt. Because she wasn’t with them—not anymore.

"I was lucky," she went on, quieter now. "They took me in even though I was older. Luckier still that they took in my older brother too. So... that’s more than enough for me."

The air felt heavier somehow—thick with unsaid things. But she told herself it was just the storm rolling in.

"Seven!" Olive shouted, jabbing a finger toward the dice.

Scarlett exhaled, grateful for the distraction.

"That it is." The guard chuckled and moved a few tokens across the board. "And with that, you just won the game."

Olive jumped up, leaning on the crate. “Did you hear that, Miss Scarlett? I won!”

“Well done.” She smiled and patted his head as the crowd broke into a mix of groans and laughter. Around the deck, coins exchanged hands in a flurry of playful frustration and quiet triumph.

Dr. Huget chuckled, counting the coins in his palm. “Knew it was a smart idea to bet on you.” He winked at Scarlett, then turned to Olive. “And you, young man, were a fine strategist. Well done.” He dropped a coin into Olive’s hand.

Olive’s face lit up. “Via, look! I got a sterrel!” He held the coin out proudly.

Scarlett smiled—then flinched slightly as a raindrop struck her head. She looked up. The sky was almost black, clouds piled thick overhead. The scent of salt warred with the coming rain, and wind whipped past her face, tugging at her freshly done braid.

“Looks like you finished just in time,” Artur said, pushing off the crates with a grunt.

“Is it going to be a bad storm?” she asked, her stomach tightening as the boat gave a sudden, uneasy lurch.

Artur glanced at the sky and drew a quiet breath. “I wouldn’t say so. It’ll probably pass in a few hours.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, my boy.” A voice curled up from behind them like smoke.

They both jumped.

“C-Captain.” Artur straightened quickly. “Apologies—I didn’t realize you were there.”

Captain Benann chuckled. “If I’d wanted to be noticed, I would’ve made sure of it.” He turned to Scarlett, his eyes glinting. “Enjoying yourself, miss?” He gave an exaggerated, almost theatrical bow.

“Yes, thank you, sir.” Scarlett returned the gesture with a small curtsy.

“Good. If any of my crew gives you trouble, just say the word.” His grin widened. “I’ll toss ’em to the kelpies myself.”
He winked—but Scarlett couldn’t shake the feeling he meant it.

Then his gaze drifted upward, lingering too long on the thickening clouds. “I’d get below, if I were you. You and the little ones. This storm’s going to be a real screamer.”

She looked up with him. The air felt charged, vibrating against her skin like a struck chord. The storm pressed close, heavy and sour on her tongue. The wind pulsed around her, like a heartbeat—or a war drum counting down to chaos.

The calm before the storm.

“It’s the kelpies,” the captain muttered. “They’re stirring up trouble. Nasty trouble.”

Beside her, Artur let out a quiet sigh.

“I thought you said they wouldn’t hurt us,” Scarlett said, the pit in her stomach deepening.

“They won’t,” he replied. “Not unless we go looking for trouble. We’ll be soaked, we’ll be tossed, but we’ll be fine. Damp, but fine.”

She caught the faintest trace of an eyeroll from Artur. “Let’s get you and the others below, Miss Scarlett.” He held out his arms, ushering them toward the stairs.

A sudden wave rocked the ship. She gripped the railing, knuckles white, heart thudding in her ears as her stomach lurched. Rain spattered her shoulders, then came faster, sharper. She picked up her pace, the deck tilting beneath her feet.

Back in the cabin, she ushered the children inside. Just in time to brace herself against the doorframe as the ship pitched again.

"Do you need anything before I go?" Artur asked. His hand hovered in the air between them, as if unsure whether to steady her.

"The storm will keep everyone busy. I’d rather you not come topside looking for something."

She wanted to shut the door and curl up in bed, but the ship's erratic swaying made it hard to focus. "Could you bring a pitcher of water? And a rag?"

She could feel the sweat clinging to her skin, the stickiness of nerves and salt. The thought of explaining why made her stomach twist. Thankfully, he didn’t ask why she needed the water.

"Of course," he said simply.

She lingered in the doorway after he left, letting the frame hold her upright. The storm didn’t make her nauseous—just unsteady, as gravity kept changing its mind. One moment she felt too heavy, the next like she'd float away.

Artur returned after what felt like an age, a pitcher in one hand and a bundle of clean rags in the other.

As soon as Artur disappeared from view, Scarlett shut the door and slid the lock into place with a soft click.

"What's that for, Miss Scarlett?" Via trotted over as Scarlett poured water into the basin.

"To wash up." She dipped a rag into the cool water, letting it soak. "I don’t know about you, but after being up there, I feel like I’ve been rolled in sea salt."

Via wrinkled her nose and held out her hand. "Me too. The air made my skin feel all sticky."

Scarlett smiled and handed her the damp cloth before starting on herself. She wiped down her arms, grateful for the chill of the water against her overheated skin. She lifted her dress slightly to reach her legs, then dabbed at her neck, each stroke washing away a bit of tension.

Soon enough, she’d coaxed both Via and Olive to freshen up. Olive scrubbed at his arms with the same intensity he gave the board game. Via hummed quietly as she cleaned her face.

Only Evelyn hadn’t moved. She sat stiffly on the edge of the bed, eyeing the basin like it might bite.

Scarlett didn’t press. Evelyn had her own rhythms. If she didn’t want to, she didn’t want to.

It didn't take them long to settle back onto her bed—children surrounding her as she flipped through the storybook. The rain pounded against the window, and waves splashed against the porthole from time to time. As time passed, it was harder to focus on the stories. The pages blurred, and a heavy feeling settled in her chest.

And then there were the noises.

Deep. Low. Humming.

The heavy feeling in her chest would soar, rising up before slamming back down. Her head would snap up to the window, expecting to see a soft glow. She kept waiting to see the light again, feel the buzzing of something that was on the tip of her tongue dance under her skin.

As the children fell asleep one by one, she could swear the sound got louder.

Her skin hummed, a faint feeling of what she was chasing buzzing inside her. It rose and sank, like something was pulling it away from her. The book went limp in her fingers, story forgotten. Her breath steady, matching the rise and fall of the ship, the slap of the waves, the beating of the rain. Until eventually she let her heavy eyes fall and pull her away into sleep.